Wraith offered only a nod to confirm his name, his lips taut but for a moment; it still felt unusual, at times, to hear his name uttered. He had been named for the ghosts of Iromar, or perhaps the ghosts that haunted both his mother and father. He wondered, sometimes, if he had been named for those that even haunted him, as if his mother had some sick insight into what his life might be like. His brother had cultivated the belief of a curse. Perhaps he was right...but Wraith did not think on it. It was easy to push those thoughts into the void within him and focus on the man before him, a man who was all too easy to be intrigued by. See, Wraith had not met such a wolf before. Taviora, perhaps, had such wolves but...they did not come to him.

He gave the smallest hint of a grin at Arturio's response. To not worry over uncontrollable things - Wraith had to admit it sounded intelligent and yet, he knew within his very core that such a goal would be unachievable for himself. In his mind, he figured he best worry for those things if nobody else would, hm? But it was the question that truly stirred him from his thoughts; he rose to meet Arturio's eyes then, fixated at he sought out whatever emotions might swim beneath the veil of green. "Many forget the...importance...of newness," he nodded slowly, "they are threatened...by such things." He breathed, unaccustomed to having so much to say, or rather feeling as if there was so much to say. Moladion was complex, after all, as all places were.

"Old blood will say..."this should be...mine,"...," there almost seemed to be a humored edge to his voice, a certain twist in the corner of his lip as if such a thought was amusing to him - which he supposed it was. After all, he was old blood, no? "Suspicion is...not always bad." He tilted his head, shrugged a shoulder, sure that Arturio despite his honor might already know such a thing. Newcomers were always good but Wraith would always keep a distance, always watch to ensure they had not come with motives other than to support. It was why he had come to Asteraia, after all, to ensure Grimoire did not come with such things when the new leaders had risen.

He paused, his head having now turned back towards them before his undead-like eyes roamed back to Arturio with another tilt of his head. He took a cautious step forward then - "Come with me," he motioned for the man to follow and yet, there was little command in his voice. Rather, everything seemed to resonate with a question, as if he was too afraid to speak with any resolve. And then, if Arturio did so, he began to lead him towards the stone plaques where Halcyon and Aster had buried the ancestors they could and had committed the ghosts of those they could not.